From Out of Ashes
by Cantica10
Summary: Ash, a fresh runaway enamored with the possibility of other worlds beyond her own, crashes her bike in the middle of Chinatown and is taken in by a curious pet shop owner. What she is and what she will become remain unknown to her and as D guides her on the path to self-realization, something else may arise. Story request from DarkAngelAshes.


This is a story request from DarkAngelAshes. I take no credit for the character design or her background; only the writing and some, though certainly not all, story aspects.

For those of you following my other stories, I know what you're thinking: "She's starting another one?! Is she crazy! She's got so many she needs to update!" Well, don't freak out too much. I'm working on it. Just be patient with me. Summer is coming to an end and I've got to pack up and ship out to college end of this month. I write when I have time, and unfortunately I don't seem to have a lot of it lately.

I hope you enjoy this collaborative piece!

"From Out of Ashes"

Ash had thought the adrenaline that accompanied the feeling of wind flying through her hair and rushing in her ears would cancel out the infuriating events of the past few hours. But memory persisted above even the thrill of racing past the world, and as she maneuvered her motorbike through the streets of Los Angeles she could still hear her furious argument with her father, the words that had been spoken just moments before she'd gathered what little she had of value and stormed out with the intention of never returning to her father's house again.

"_I come home every night and what do I find! You, drunk or stoned or who the hell knows what else—!"_

"_That's none of your damned business, now is it?!"_

"_None of my business?! My father is none of my business?! Fine, then! If you don't want me in your business stay the fuck out of mine and stop rooting through my stuff all the time looking for money to satisfy your addictions! I'd be better off on my own!"_

"_Maybe you would!"_

"_Then I'll leave!"_

"…_Good. Get out."_

Ash sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth and rounded a corner almost too close. Usually a wild and reckless ride on her bike, her only prized possession, dulled everything: emotion, thought… but it wasn't helping this time. She couldn't shake her recollections, and it was infuriating her beyond reason.

She tried distracting herself by identifying her surroundings. Chinatown, clearly. The red and gold paper lanterns hung in every shop window, foreign characters of writing which she could make no sense of, and various stone shrines and small dragon statues all screamed Chinatown. Ash was alarmed for a moment, not realizing she'd already ridden so far – practically across the city – but when she was trying desperately to lose herself and going so fast the world had been a blur, she supposed it wasn't really that surprising after all.

She was still going too fast and she knew it, but if she went any slower her sanity would begin to dwindle. She needed to be moving, she needed the world to be incoherent so she could think enough to find coherency within herself. She had nowhere to go. Like hell she'd go to her mom. The woman was half mad and Ash couldn't tolerate her presence for longer than ten minutes. She had no family to turn to, not even a distant cousin, and no friends either. She was alone in the world with nothing but a motorbike and a bag containing things valuable only to her; a journal, a sketchbook, and a picture book about creatures of myth and mysticism given to her so long ago by her grandmother. If only she were still alive, Ash could have gone to her…

Shaking herself and letting out a small shriek of irritation at both her memories and the inability to drive as fast as she wanted, she slammed down on the brake until her bike stopped, turned around, and went speeding out of Chinatown so fast the section of the city went by in a blur of gold and scarlet before Ash went back to that familiar road where she could go as fast as she wanted, a decrepit street which had once been part of an old highway that was not monitored by police. Whatever speed limit sign that had been posted there who knew how long ago was gone, knocked over and blown away or stolen by some local kids on a dare. But Ash didn't care about any of that as long as it meant she could drive well past reasonable speed and forget everything in the onslaught of roaring wind and a world out of focus flying past her.

* * *

She found herself in Chinatown again four days later, drawn there by curiosity. She had never truly seen that part of the city, and she was beginning to lose the vigor that had kept her in constant need of rapid motion; a side effect of fatigue and malnourishment. She hadn't eaten a thing since she's stormed out of her father's house. As a matter of fact, she'd only stopped driving around on her bike when it needed gas and when she was in desperate need of sleep. She'd bought a water bottle at a gas station during one of her stops but no food; she didn't want to waste precious money that could be spent on fuel. She'd refilled the bottle with every stop she made, but four days without food was beginning to really take its toll on her.

She found that speed was beginning to make her dizzy and lightheaded. She had a headache that wouldn't quit and was getting worried – the money was running out. Four days of nothing but reckless driving, nonstop, had taken a major hit on her wallet. And she still had no place to stay. She'd been hiding herself when she stopped for sleep, always leaning against her bike so there was no chance it could be stolen while she slept.

She went as fast as she could bear through Chinatown, paying more attention to her surroundings rather than the street and still going at a pace too fast to be reasonable, but she didn't give a damn about that. She'd go as fast as she could or as long as she could, because she still wasn't numb. And god, did she need to be numb, mind, body, and soul.

She didn't notice the car until it was too late.

It had turned directly into her path, the driver assuming Ash wasn't going as fast as she actually was and therefore thinking they had enough time to maneuver their car into the street and avoiding a crash, but Ash was upon it almost instantaneously.

Instinct took over, and desperate to avoid a collision, jerked her handlebars to the right. Going as fast as she was coupled with the abrupt change of direction had disastrous consequences; Ash went flying over the handles and into the beam of a shop awning, snapping it in half with a tremendous crack and hitting the ground as her right side exploded into pain from the fall. She watched in horror as her motorcycle, her beloved Harley Davidson, went careening out of control into a wall and toppled over, tires still turning. She cringed hearing it scratching against the pavement.

Ash had gained quite a number of spectators, but she cared little for them when her bike was in distress, and she urgently clambered to her feet with little more thought than she had to rescue it. But the moment she stood, the blood rushed to her head and her knees buckled. Ash, knowing what came next, swore colorfully before passing out.

* * *

Waking up was… surreal. Everything felt fuzzy, like static on an old television, and there was a ringing in her ears, though muffled. It took Ash several moments of regaining consciousness to realize that her senses were being dulled by incense, the scent of it thick and heavy. It was difficult to breathe. She had a pain in her chest and her right side felt as though she'd taken a hit from a train, her muscles screaming at her when she did as little as tense them. She panicked a moment, fearing whatever this incense was, it was purposefully dulling her senses and impairing her functionality, but then she remembered the crash, and that she had been in Chinatown, and although she still didn't know where she was she was able to calm down slightly. Those Chinese guys burned incense all the time, right? It couldn't be specifically for her.

After a few groggy moments of deduction in which Ash decided what she was lying on must be a couch, she opened her eyes and took in the view. She was inside a room decked out in almost shockingly oriental décor; paper dividers, Chinese lanterns, posters of traditional ink paintings and zodiac diagrams, the works. She didn't know why she was surprised; it was Chinatown. What had she expected? Actually, now that she thought about it, she had kind of been expecting a hospital. That had been a pretty nasty crash, hadn't it? She felt beat up enough for a trip to the ER.

She was shocked to find herself not in the clothes she had originally been wearing, though. Even her necklace and bracelets were gone, and her shoes had been removed. On her person was a simple white dress in a Chinese style; a high collar, sleeveless, hem at the mid-thigh, buttons down the front. It was soft and comfortable, allowing Ash freer movement, but the fact that someone had changed her into it while she was unconscious made her skin crawl. The material felt strange against her skin. She was far too accustomed to tight jeans and t-shirts, heavy skirts and converse, corsets even, her leather jacket and boots and gloves; in other words, her riding clothes.

Oh, god. Her bike. She only remembered it now, but damn it, her bike! Where was it?! Was it all right?! The last she could recall was watching it writhing on the ground with the engine still rumbling like a purr, the metal eliciting terrible sounds as it scratched against the pavement on its side, wheels still rotating.

Ash bolted up with the full intention to go in search of it, but the blood rushing to her head was excruciating, and the headache that came with it was certainly the worst non-migraine headache she'd ever had. She groaned and swayed where she sat, her hands going to her temples and her knees curling into her chest as her stomach cramped up.

"Slow down," someone commanded, and Ash flinched as she looked up, wildly searching for the speaker. Her eyes grew wide. How had she failed to notice the man (effeminate as he was) standing in the corner, watching her?! Should she panic?! Could she trust him?!

To her great relief, he made no advance towards her. He merely watched in satisfaction as she lowered herself back down, the headache becoming too much to bear. "You were badly injured," he informed her. His voice had a tenor reminiscent to that of a Chinese accent, but just barely. Ash could clearly understand each word. "You need to rest."

"My bike," Ash croaked, appalling even herself when that was her first request. Life threatening situations certainly revealed a person's priorities, didn't they? Funnily enough, she found she cared more for her Harley than for herself.

"Ah. Assuming you're referring to that metal monstrosity that nearly got you killed, it is next door with my neighbor, locked safely in his shed," the man said, his nose wrinkling in disgust when he considered her bike. Ash found that both irritating and amusing. The man looked her over and added, "I should hope that in the future, if you have further plans to go tearing through the streets at completely unreasonable speeds, you will at least have the good sense to wear a helmet."

Ash would have normally pulled out her middle finger for that comment, but she was far too tired and sleep was tugging her back into its clutches again. The best she could manage was a very weak, "Screw you," before she surrendered to it.

* * *

Waking up the second time was only slightly less disorienting. Incense still permeated Ash's every sense, but she had been expecting it the second time around; however, expecting it still didn't diminish its effect on her, or its potency. She sat up slowly this time, having no immediate desire to repeat the motions that had given her such a massive headache, which lingered still, throbbing behind her right eye. Her body felt battered and bruised, and she winced with every movement. She was forced to grit her teeth to keep from groaning.

The room was dark, and Ash could see no light filtering through the curtains on the circular windows. It was nighttime. That Chinese man who had lurked in the corner of the room the first time she'd awoken was nowhere to be seen. Good. Ash had business to attend to, and he, who had called her bike a metal monstrosity – a monstrosity! She should punch him for that comment! – would doubtlessly have no desire to assist her in accomplishing her desired task.

Ash grimaced as she swung her legs over the side of the couch but was pleased to find she had plenty of strength to stand and move about, and she wasted no time, especially since she didn't know how much she had. The Chinese guy could be lurking about somewhere, wherever here was, and who knew how long she had until sunup? Ash crept to the door and slipped outside into the cool night air, pausing only to regard the sign at the building's front that told her where she had been taken after the crash. Count D's Pet Shop; what a strange place to take an injured girl. A pet shop.

Ash shook herself and looked around. There was nobody on the streets of Chinatown this late at night. She hoped it would stay that way. She turned right and slipped out from beneath the shop's awning, scurrying towards the gate that led onto the neighboring property. It was unlocked, much to her surprise. She'd thought she would have to scale it, and chewed her bottom lip as she slid through it to the backyard of the shop and shut it softly behind her.

The shed was not far from the gate's entrance, and it too was unlocked. Ash growled in her throat when she pulled it open and found her bike, flashing silver in the moonlight, waiting for her. They had left a Harley – _her_ Harley, nonetheless! – in an unlocked, unguarded shed? She was going to raise hell if she ever got a piece of the person behind that genius plan!

Ignoring her sore muscles and aching limbs, Ash crawled into the tight room left within the shed and grasped the handlebars of her bike, trying to pull it out into the open. She was getting on it and getting the hell out at once. She'd figure out where to go from there, but wherever she ended up, at least she could ensure her bike's safety. Unlike these careless people, obviously. She groaned as she gave her bike a shove, but it wouldn't budge. Had it always been so heavy? Or was she just exceedingly weak at the moment?

Frustration bubbling in her chest like a poison that was infecting the rest of her body. She let out a growl and kicked the front tire, which ended only in pain exploding up her foot and disappearing at some point halfway up her leg and a strangled cry of injury burst from her throat.

"What are you doing?!" a furious voice snapped from behind her, and Ash, startled to no end and already in pain, yelped and turned around too quickly to face whoever it was that had snuck up on her and found herself careening into the side of the shed, knocked off balance. She fell to the ground and the resulting jolts she'd caused to the wooden walls knocked several heavy items from their shelves to go toppling over her, and more pain exploded from the cuts and bumps obtained from the shower of metal tools. "Damn it!" she snarled, fighting back the irrepressible tears welling up in her eyes. Raising her gaze to the person responsible for her spaz-session, she found the effeminate Chinese man from the shop she'd first awoken in. She was surprised, ironically, by just how unsurprised she was to see him there.

Still, that didn't diminish her fury. She glared up at him and spat, "Look what you made me do! And damn it, don't your neighbors know how to lock a fucking shed?!"

He stared down at her with an equally furious gaze, although his had an eerily piercing quality that made Ash feel as though she needed to shrink into herself and hide until he turned away. "I knew when I came out to check on you and you were gone that you'd be with your metal monstrosity," he scolded her, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping irritably. "You are _injured_. You need rest, not more excitement. I'm sure in a week's time you'll be back to tempting death on that machine, but for now, and especially if I have anything to say about it, you are leaving it here and coming back to my shop to get yourself taken care of."

He said this with such a resolute tenor that Ash saw no point whatsoever in arguing. She muttered a few curses under her breath as she shifted the tools off of her, dismayed when she felt her hand slide over something warm and sticky and raised it to see scarlet blood glistening at her fingertips. The strange man grasped her wrist, and Ash gasped and tried to instinctually pull away, flinching from the contact, but he refused to release his hold on her and pulled her to her feet. Ash could determine she had a nasty cut on her leg and a few smaller cuts and scrapes on her shoulders and over her collarbone. Not to mention the additional bruises that would begin developing tomorrow…

She cast a scant glance at her bike as the man was ushering her out of the shed, and the thought occurred to her. "Where are my bags?" she asked.

He shut the door to the shed with a resolute click and turned back to Ash, gripping her arm as though he expected her to run off. Ash shuddered, wishing he'd release her. She'd follow him; she just didn't want to be touched. "My shop," he replied briskly. "I retrieved them from your bike after your horrific crash yesterday. You need not worry," he added with a rather smug smile as a suspicious look crossed over Ash's face. "They remain otherwise undisturbed."

"Best news I've heard all day," Ash grumbled, subjecting herself to the strange man's guiding hand as he directed her out of the small yard and back into the street, not stopping until they were back inside his shop. Ash still couldn't get over the bizarre arrangement. A pet shop, of all places.

He shut the door behind them and pointed a rigid finger at the couch she had fled from not fifteen minutes earlier. "Sit," he commanded impatiently, and Ash trudged over and seated herself, crossing her arms despite the throbbing pain the injuries in her shoulder caused her and mercifully leaving her legs uncrossed, which she would normally have done but decided against what with the gash on her left calf. "Stay," he ordered sternly before rushing out of the room, no doubt hurrying to accomplish whatever task he was undertaking so he could get back to her and make sure she didn't wander off.

Ash inspected her wounds while she waited for his return. Not as bad as they could have been. She had a few bruises from her crash already purple and yellow, but no worse than that from her ill-fated loss of control. The short time she'd spent in the shed had done much more harm to her person as far as injuries went.

The man came hurrying back into the room cradling a first aid kit in his arms. It was strange to see that red and white box, looking sterile and official, in this room of Chinese ornamentation. He carried it over to the couch and set it on the floor, opening it rather abruptly so that the top went swiveling through the air on its hinges and collided with the opposite side, making the hard _bang_ of plastic on plastic.

As the strange man began rummaging through the box, Ash finally posed the question she'd considered several times since first seeing the sign next to the door. "Are you Count D?"

He paused for a moment. "Hm. So you can speak like a reasonable person."

Ash was not above the childish act of sticking her tongue out at him. However, as he did not glance up to see it, the gesture was wasted.

"The count is my grandfather. He is away," the man continued, pulling out a package of cotton balls and diving back into the box, still searching. That first aid kit seemed much more cluttered than the usual box. Why did a pet shop owner need so many home medical supplies? "But I suppose, as the name seems to stick, I am D. For the time being." He pulled an amber glass bottle from the kit and looked at it in satisfaction. "Here we are," he said triumphantly, plucking a cotton ball away from its brothers and dousing it in the liquid from the bottle. "This is antiseptic. It might sting a little."

Ash jolted when D stood and reached for her shoulder, shrinking away from him as though that hand were seeking to hurt her and not help. He stopped and observed her countenance. "Is everything all right?" he asked softly.

Ash took a few calming breaths, reminding herself that this man, whoever he was, was not her father. He had helped her, and was going to continue to help her if she'd let him. And those scrapes did hurt a whole hell of a lot. "I'm fine," she choked out, gritting her teeth as D closed what space there was between his hand and her shoulder and began dabbing the cotton ball over the scrapes. She sucked in a harsh breath through clenched teeth, going to her happy place (an endless road and a bike that would never run out of gas) to drown out the memories of her father grabbing her shoulders and shaking her until she thought her neck would snap. The antiseptic did sting, but the pain was far from intolerable. She'd suffered far worse.

"What is your name?" D asked, setting the cotton ball, tinged pink with the dried blood it had collected, aside and reaching into the first aid kit for a few simple flesh colored Band-Aids.

"Ash," she replied simply, more interested in keeping an eye on D's hands as he arranged four Band-Aids in a neat row over her collarbone and shoulder.

"Ash," he repeated. "That's a rather short name."

"Yeah, well, most people can't pronounce Ashusayanthia," Ash retorted, using her rarely spoken full name. "It just makes things easier. Saves a hell of a lot of time, too."

D smirked. "Yes, I imagine it does," he commented, dousing another cotton ball and tending to the gash on her leg. The antiseptic seeping into the open flesh hurt a lot more than the scrapes he'd already dealt with. He wrapped her leg in a real bandage; the wound was too big for a Band-Aid, or even a few of them.

D's eyes went to the black mark on Ash's ankle, regarding it curiously. "What is this?" he inquired, tracing the swirls and angles that made up the interruption in otherwise creamy skin.

"A tattoo, I guess," Ash said offhandedly, shrugging off the question. "I've always had it. My parents probably just had it done when I was real little, in case I got lost or something and needed to be identified."

D was staring at it in thought, his brow furrowed. He started muttering to himself. "It almost looks like…" his private notes became too quiet to hear.

"Looks like what?" Ash demanded.

He ceased his mumbling and looked back up at her. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud," he smiled at her. He stood and indicated a pile of things near one of the room's cabinets. "Your things are all there. Clothes, gloves, jewelry, bags… motorcycle keys," he added reluctantly.

Ash nodded slowly, reminded that she was not dressed in her clothes. "Yeah. Um. So. I wanted to ask you about that. How did I…? I mean, this dress definitely isn't mine…"

"Oh, that?" D said. "Doctor down the street saw your crash and insisted on looking you over to make sure you weren't too badly hurt. His wife is an extremely helpful woman. She found one of her spare dresses and got you into it so any injuries you might have gotten could be assessed. You're extremely lucky, I'll have you know. You didn't even get a concussion."

"Yeah. That's what I'd call it. Lucky," Ash muttered sarcastically, getting to her feet and walking over to her pile of things. She sat down and tugged one of her bags from beneath her folded clothes, pulling it open and reaching inside to draw out a tattered book with dog eared pages and then a journal, also a little worn. She closed the bag and replaced it before going back to the couch and settling herself onto it. She assumed she was allowed to stay at this pet shop with this strange D, at the very least until her injuries were healed, so she may as well make herself comfortable. She opened the journal and pulled the pen tucked into a pocket on the book's spine out of its place, dated the page, and considered what she could write. This ordeal could elicit wonderful poetry if she could just find the words.

"May I ask what you're doing?" D said curiously.

"I want to write a few things down."

"Fair enough," he smiled. "What's the other book for?"

"Oh… this," she said, setting the journal aside and showing D her most cherished possession after her Harley. "It's a picture book I got from my grandmother a long time ago. I don't know why, it just… makes me happy when I look at it. It's just got all these impossible things inside of it. Worlds where magic is real and the creatures are absolutely fantastic."

D smiled. "You run away and still bring a picture book and a journal?"

"And a sketchbook," Ash grinned, setting the picture book aside and opening her journal once more. "All the comforts of home in a bag, heading somewhere else… somewhere better."

D looked at her for a few moments, saying nothing. Ash got the feeling he was deducing her. At last, he withdrew to the door. "It is still night, and you need rest. Good night, Ashusayanthia." He slipped through the door and shut it behind him, leaving Ash to stare after him in shock. He was the first person to get her full name right on the first go. What a curious man. _Not unattractive, either_, a voice in the back of her head nudged her, and Ash shoved it aside, a little appalled by her own brazen thought.

She shook herself and returned to her journal, jotting a few lines of poetry – definitely not her best work; she'd probably cringe rereading it tomorrow – and set it aside, lying down on the couch and opening up the picture book to her favorite page. It portrayed two ethereal, beautiful creatures of human build, one male and one female, in the page's center, draped in clothing reminiscent of the ancient Egyptian royalty. They were bronze-skinned and muscular, the man portrayed with a fierce look and the woman with a soft expression. _Altomarians_, the book called them. Beings from another realm, an entirely different dimension steeped in magic and mysticism. The man was a warrior, it said, and the woman a prophetess.

They had markings, too. Black symbols, like runes, somewhere upon their bodies. The man's ran in a weaving pattern across his bare chest with another, a single, twisting mark on his hip. The woman had a band not unlike a Celtic tattoo circling her left arm, a line of spiraling marks sweeping across the expanse of her collarbone, and a single mark akin to a star beneath her right eye. The book stated these marks served some purpose, displaying their caste or destiny. Ash liked to imagine their world. It had to be so much better than hers. And even though logic told her no such world existed, there was still that spark of hope always in the back of her head, and she could never bring herself to write it off as a mere fairy-tale.

She fell asleep with the book in her hands, and sometime in the night when she shifted her position in sleep, it slid to the floor, still opened to the page occupied by the Altomarians.

It was sometime soon after this that D reentered the room, his footsteps so soft against the carpeted floor they made little more than a whisper. He stopped at the couch and looked down at the sleeping girl, wondering about her. This girl so fiery, yet broken, this girl so full of spirit that could not be crushed… how could she not know that she was something _more_?

D's eyes fell upon the journal, resting upon a table next to the couch, and he picked it up and perused it, never lingering on one page for too long, Dark poetry, mostly. What sort of a life had she been living…? Sighing softly, D replaced the journal and stopped to pick up the picture book. He stared at the Altomarian page for a while, a smile spreading across his lips. "All the tools and yet she remains ignorant," he muttered, shaking his head and shutting the book, placing it atop the journal. "You've been among humans far too long, Ashusayanthia. They've dulled your natural senses." He watched her a while longer before the thought occurred to him, and his curiosity for the girl grew deeper. "What are you doing here?" he asked, pursing his lips. "A creature such as you has no place among humans. You are far too valuable… and far too brilliant. And I will fix this for you. I promise… I will send you home."

* * *

Chapter one, done! It took me a terribly long time to write it from page one to its end. I'm going to college in less than two weeks, you see, and I have a billion and one things to do before then. Ugh. Not particularly fun. I just want to write and watch _Doctor Who_! Is that too much to ask? Sigh. Oh, well. **If you enjoyed this, review**! I thrive upon your feedback, and DarkAngelAshes and I would love to hear what you think!

See you in Chapter two!


End file.
